


Autumn 1184

by Kaska Arai (toastie_the_know)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Dimitri doesn't show up, Embedded Images, For Me, Freeform, M/M, Mild Gore, Not Beta Read, Possibly Unrequited Love, Road Trips, Therefore technically readable as one-sided Dimitri/Felix, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastie_the_know/pseuds/Kaska%20Arai
Summary: In the autumn months leading up to the Millennium Reunion, Felix and Sylvain search for his highness. AM route character studies threaded together through the last three months leading up to the Ethereal Moon. Oscillating perspectives between Felix and Sylvain, muddled prose to reflect muddled minds.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/ Sylvain Jose Gautier (one-sided)
Kudos: 24





	1. Horsebow Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in November 2019 when I was thinking through the Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri dynamic.

By the autumn of 1184 Felix has mastered controlling the grimace that naturally comes along with striking down a human being. The bandit gurgles as he collapses. Their mistake in thinking that a lone young man with an expensive sword would be an easy target. 

“Still breathtaking technique after all these years!” A familiar voice pulls his attention out of the haze of combat. It’s funny how a familiar voice, a familiar tone can cut straight through the wall of concentration that forms when focussing on a life-or-death exchange. Felix gives his sword a tense shake to remove the rivulets of blood. He consciously avoids turning to the source of the voice as he wipes the blade clean. 

“Good to see you’re ever improving”, Sylvain casually approaches Felix, horse and lance in tow. As though they had not seen each other for a near five years. The corpse of the fell bandit is ignored.

“I’m impressed you managed to find me,” Felix still does not turn. He sheathes his sword.

“Right? It was actually quite a challenge to track you down, since you were careful to make yourself untraceable.” 

The swordsman finally turns around to face his childhood friend. He’s a bit taller, Felix notes. Sylvain has always been larger than himself, but being clad in full armour makes him seem graver than he recalls. More obviously guarded. But Felix feels a warmth at the familiar presence. He wouldn’t give Sylvain the satisfaction of knowing this truth, though. 

“What do you want,” Felix drawls, trying for nonchalant.

“Hey come on, it’s been more than four years since we last spoke properly,” Sylvain’s voice flitters in mirth, evidently seeing past Felix’s failed attempt to mask his emotions. “And honestly I’m the one with questions. Like what are you doing here alone in occupied Gaspard territory? I thought the House of Fraldarius is currently… engaged. “

It is true that the war with the Empire had been taking up the energies of House Fraldarius. Felix had hardly seen his father since those early days of chaos when Garreg Mach fell. A part of him felt guilt over the thought of abandoning the people of the Fraldarius lands during these uncertain times. But what was he supposed to do, when the gnawing compulsion to go search for the truth was occupying his every waking moment? 

“I thought House Gautier was also currently engaged,” Felix’s eyes narrow. “I doubt things are so stable up north that the Margrave has allowed his sole heir to go gallivanting in Empire occupied territory.” 

That’s one way of putting it, Sylvain chuckles. No further extrapolation. 

Felix sighs. “There is something I’m wanting to find out.”

“Right,” Sylvain nods, as though he understood Felix’s intentions. Granted if anyone was to understand Felix’s motivations for going on this quest, Sylvain would be one of the few people who could. “So that’s why you’ve been wandering about for the past year three years.”

“Have you come here to try and convince me to go home?” Felix can’t help suspicion creep into his voice.

“No, I’ve actually come to join you,” Sylvain looks straight at Felix, holding his gaze. Felix raises his brows in response. “Given the current year and month… I think it makes perfect sense.”

He’s always been good at getting Felix to do what he wants, when it counts. Felix recognises Sylvain’s manoeuvres. As is more common than not, he lets himself be carried along.

“Whatever,” Felix attempts at sounding dismissive. “Just don’t get in my way.”

“Yes dear,” Sylvain smiles in good humour. “It’s good to see that you haven’t changed.” 

The onset of the Horse Bow Moon marks the beginning of autumn, leading into the end of the year. The year is 1184; three months shy of the Millennium Festival.

Felix remembers that it was often Sylvain who checked in on the three of them. As they got older, Ingrid took on the role of the voice of reason; partly because she was made to learn how to mother, and partly because Sylvain started loosening as the circumstances of his family started to weigh in on him. 

Felix admits to himself that having Sylvain’s company was good for him. The years he travelled alone were isolated ones. He prefers the quiet and freedom of being alone, but he knows that indulging too deeply in one’s preference is not always best. He felt his senses wearing down to a singular focus. An unhealthy preoccupation with an idea. The grim irony was not lost on him. Hadn’t he been the one lecturing Him about focussing on the present and the living?

The news of the execution had come on a grey day. Felix recalls that moment, he had been whetting the Zoltan blade when his father had come in. He can’t remember the exact words that were uttered, but he does remember how his head collapsed into his own hands when the message struck home. His father may or may not have grasped his shoulders to keep him in the present. He thought he knew sadness over losing the essence of his friend to Duscar, but that bitter disappointment was nothing compared to the clawing devastation in his gut when he realised he had lost his opportunity to try and repair things. That he would never again see that gentle smile, be it contrived or genuine. The childhood memories of relishing a shared secret just between the two of them, or the awe in understanding their relationship as destiny in the long line of history… 

Overtime Rodrigue began voicing his suspicions more vocally. An execution but no body. How could that be. Like many other words Rodrigue had voiced in the past, they seeped into Felix’s mind and settled in. Of course there is no body because there was no real execution. He is alive. He has got to be alive.

This whole quest was running on steam. A thin, worn-down desperate sense of trying to get back to the past. Felix knows with his mind that the past is gone and that one cannot return to it. He knows that whoever it is that he will find will not be his cherished childhood friend. He may not even be the fake youth he loathed at Garreg Mach. But if it means Felix is given a second chance, he will weather any number of seasons to find him. 

He absentmindedly notes Sylvain’s presence to his right, silently swaying along to the motion of his mount. His friend whom he had not seen for many years had turned up concerned for his well-being. And yet all Felix could think of was about where to go next in his quest to find their missing liege. 

He knows where he stands with Sylvain. As far as Felix is concerned, their relationship is relatively clear. It was much harder to say where he stood with the prince of Faerghus. Despite the desperate urgency to find him, and the need to right the wrongs of their past (why had he been so unwilling to see his suffering and isolation? Why had he been so unnecessarily cruel?)… Felix was not sure he could bring himself to name the precise feelings that had started to bubble in his chest. What was once a straight forward relationship, he had made complicated. Felix had needlessly rebuffed him. But Felix was also frightened of him. It had taken him a while to fully acknowledge that there was an element of fear beneath the clear pangs of loss and grief. 

After the tragedy at Duscar, it had hurt so much when he realised that his childhood friend no longer saw him. Didn’t see him in any capacity, let alone as someone special. Felix had felt so much anger during those adolescent years. At the time he was in no place to identify why he was so angry. Recently it had dawned on him that it was not anger, per se. It was the fear, but also humiliation. He had felt fear over the death of the world he once took for granted. Fear of the once familiar metamorphosing into something terrifying and unknown. And he had felt humiliated, that the prince of Faerghus had turned his attention away, and that Felix had been so affected by this loss yet the prince did not seem to notice. 

A dense coldness runs through his core. He is not sure what he would do if he should again experience the blank look of un-recognition from that dear face.

“It was a grim thing,” the crippled man murmurs. “The warmer moons were damned awful, the smell was inescapable.”

The village was like any other in occupied Gaspard territory - same same but different - with a dull tone that spoke of fatigue with the continuing state of affairs between the Empire and the Holy Kingdom. Weary gazes from other villagers, watching pointedly from a distance. True stories of a decimated Imperial band and vague stories about a monster of some kind had brought Felix here. It had surprised Sylvain a little that Felix was willing to travel two days worth on horseback on the whiff of a rumour.

“Seven bodies we buried,” the man continued, avoiding the gaze of the two Faerghean knights. “We had to wait until we got the clear from the Imperial mob themselves, can’t have them thinking we hid these atrocities, or worse that we were somehow responsible.” Can’t afford to give them more reason to step harder on our throats, he mumbles as an after thought. The burdens of an occupied territory.

“So you did not see the perpetuators responsible,” Felix questions. 

“Perpetuators makes it sound like some humans murdered those Imperial bastards,” the man replies flatly, still holding his gaze firmly towards the ground. Motionlessly holding his hat, Sylvain absent-mindedly notices, with six fingers, two thumbs. “Seemed to me more something done by a pack of animals.” 

“So you do not know whether it was the work of a group or an individual,” Felix asks. It was a statement, really. The crippled man lifts his gaze to look at Felix, eyebrows knitted. One eye is cloudy, perhaps the work of a stray ember.

“M’lord, there’s no way one man or woman could’ve been responsible for that amount of carnage.”

“Do you think it was a demonic beast, or something else?” Sylvain muses, hand thoughtfully on his chin. The two loiter around at the edge of the village, ignoring the blank stares of the villagers from some distance. 

“Hard to say,” Felix murmurs back noncommittally. “It’s possible, but without physical evidence to inspect there’s not much to go by.”

“So would you care to spell out precisely what it is that we’re trying to do?” Sylvain presses.

Felix doesn’t respond, but turns on his heel to approach his horse. “No use staying here then,” he announces, completely ignoring Sylvain’s question. “Better get going. The village will be happy to have us out of here. The next place we can shelter is still some while away.”

Recognising the attempted change of subject, Sylvain trots behind Felix to catch up. Felix always had trouble with candid conversations. “Hey, why are we here. I have a pretty good idea, but I want to hear you say it,” he gently nudges Felix’s arm with his elbow. “I think you could give me that much, since I’m keeping you company and all.” 

Felix scowls briefly at the gesture, “I never asked for your company.”  
  
“Come on, don’t be thorny. You didn’t send me back either,” Sylvain is unwilling to let this go. Felix breathes.

“Surely you’ve heard the stories of Imperial generals being murdered gruesomely in Kingdom territories by some manner of monster,” Felix’s voice is low and faint. A flicker of a frown passes Sylvain’s face. “I said it back then and I’ll say it again; he’s a beast who relishes in slaughter, moved by revenge-“

“You think his highness is behind these deaths.”

Sylvain briefly falls into his own thoughts. It was he himself who uttered the words out loud, but Sylvain hadn’t expected those to bring up a slew of complex emotions. He had speculated that Felix had been searching for his highness the past three years, alone, on some instinct. That he had been searching for his highness driven by… something. What, exactly? Sylvain’s thoughts always stopped there. But now seeing Felix in front of him, having observed him over the past few days, a small idea wedged itself in his mind. 

Now it registers to Sylvain that Felix is looking at him in silence. Perhaps anticipating a response. He shakes his thought away. “I’m kind of surprised you’re not bothered by the lack of tangible results from this village,” Sylvain manages. An honest statement. 

Felix looks away and focusses on getting his mount ready. “I’ve gotten used to vague results.”

“Are you serious? Have the past three years all been like this?” Sylvain couldn’t help the incredulity in his voice. He knew Felix was tenacious despite the apparent short-temperedness, but the realisation that he had been doing this for three years… The unnamed thought wedges deeper into his mind, gaining shape. 

Felix continues to busy himself with setting up his ride. The words slip from Sylvain before he can stop them. “I mean… I hate to ask, but, what… is making you keep this up? It’s been… years.” 

Felix snorts. If he noticed Sylvain’s trepidation in voicing the question, he didn’t show it. “What else am I supposed to do?” he fastens his pack on his horse with unwarranted force. “I can’t just sit still and wonder.” 

It is true, Sylvain thinks, that Felix has always been a person of action. How much simpler his life would have been if Felix were more the sit-and-be-still kind. But then again, he wouldn’t have been drawn so fiercely to such a sensible soul. There was always something precarious about Felix which he found mesmerising.

The horse trots backwards and forwards in irritation as Felix mounts. Sylvain grimaces, and hurriedly readies his own mount. “Don’t torture yourself over this, ok?” There is no acknowledgement from Felix that he had heard anything. 

Sylvain has always known that his highness had a special place in Felix’s life. He has a special place in the lives of all Faerghean nobles, of course. He’s the heir to the throne. He is special to Sylvain, as a childhood friend, a privileged relationship. But it’s different for Felix. He thought he knew this, and that was just a fact which required no further interrogation. Loog and Kyphon and all of that. But now he can’t dislodge the growing realisation that his highness occupies a portion of Felix’s mind much larger than he had thought. And this realisation hurries his own mind, for reasons which Sylvain is not yet willing to name.


	2. Wyvern Moon

It started small, Felix thinks. Sylvain had always been relatively forthcoming with physical contact in their academy years, slinging his arms over Ingrid’s shoulders, a pat on the back for Ashe, a high-five with Annette, and other gestures of camaraderie. Now though it seemed Sylvain was much more intent on touching Felix at any given opportunity. Seemingly unconsciously. A grip on Felix’s shoulders to stop him from unleashing his vicious tongue on a poor rank-and-file soldier. A grasp at his cloak to apologise as Felix turns on his heel to leave a banal argument. A touch on his hip to make him turn around and pay attention. Or has this always been the case, with Felix only noticing now because they are in this limbo space, just the two of them, travelling from one place to another?

Felix briefly contemplates these thoughts as Sylvain clasps a gloved hand over his mouth while looking over him at the source of their reason to hold still in the dusk. Imperial soldiers, perhaps half a dozen, talking to one another about something a rather. Felix couldn’t make out precisely what they were saying, hence his concealed approach through the vegetation in order to get closer without being detected. Internally Felix fumes at Sylvain’s patronising move; does he still think of him as a younger child who can’t be trusted to act discretely? The thought didn’t last long as he began to catch snippets of words with a heavy Southern lilt - soldiers from the Varley lands, perhaps.

“…unknown… that’s not… yeah yeah, but … had …ed”  
“But it’s not as though… I’d rather this than…”  
“Yes, but it’s only a matter of time before we…”

Felix presses his tongue against the back of his teeth in frustration. He can neither hear the soldiers well enough to get any sense of whether their words contain meaningful information, nor can he move closer to hear better. With his back pressed against the tree he was hiding behind, and Sylvain caging him in and focussing his attention on the Imperial soldiers, Felix silently glares.

The voices become distant, until they could be heard no longer. Sylvain slowly releases his hand, and steps out of Felix’s space. He is still concentrating on the direction the soldiers went.

“…what the hell was that about?” Felix asks testily.

“I’m not really sure, it sounded like they were speculating about some mobilisation orders that might come in the near future-”

“That’s not what I’m asking about,” Felix cuts in, and Sylvain finally looks at him. “Why did you think it was necessary to cover my mouth with your hand?” Felix crosses his arms across his chest, chin pointed in accusation. “I knew that Imperial soldiers were there - I was the one who found them and approached.”

“Oh, did I do that?” Sylvain says softly to no one, and turns away, scratching his neck. Felix grimaces. Sylvain continues, eyes averted, “Well you know, you’ve always been edgy and quick to pick a fight-“

“Don’t patronise me,” Felix clicks his tongue. “Name me one situation since we started travelling where I’ve acted recklessly.”

“Ok fine, you’re right. I’m sorry if I offended you,” Sylvain sighs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat.

The small gesture irritates Felix, but he let it slide. “Apology accepted,” he murmurs.

It was from then that Felix began to notice how Sylvain’s eyes would rest on him. As the leaves deepen in chroma and the days got shorter, Felix would catch Sylvain looking at him with increased frequency. More often than not in such moments Sylvain would cock his brows, smile, or on the rare occasion just hold Felix’s gaze before turning away. This was new, Felix thinks. Unlike the touches and constant skinship, the gaze was not something that happened during their academy days. But if Felix were being completely honest, many details from that time were beginning to fade from his memory, being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of everything since the day the monastery fell, since the Professor disappeared, since the announcement of the execution, but the body disappeared. Maybe Sylvain did keep his eyes on Felix back then. Just another detail that’s becoming thinner as time falls away.

The days spent travelling with Sylvain also faded out memories from the past. Nothing glamorous; only the blunt blocking out of time which the constant waiting and monotony of travel enforces on his mind. He has plenty of time to think, but the monotony makes it hard to do so clearly.

Sylvain’s question was a legitimate one: what is making him keep up this search? But the corresponding question had begun to niggle at Felix. Why is Sylvain going along with this? Duty to the crown? A chance to escape his House? Or for the benefit of Felix? Felix knows that Sylvain had always fancied himself the older brother to their childhood quartet. He was always happy to be involved in the things they did, but also happy to be relied upon.

The ugly word “needy” briefly passed Felix’s mind before it disappeared.

Sylvain was his rock after the Tragedy. While the three of them fell apart, Sylvain was steadfast. Maybe Sylvain had in fact always been looking at him. Looking out for them all. Maybe some day he should thank Sylvain for that.

Looking out for, not looking at.

Northern Faerghus would be at its most golden during the Wyvern Moon. Sylvain had always felt mid-autumn in central Fódolan was a little underwhelming for this reason. The trees were becoming autumnal in Gaspard territory, but something about the denseness of colour wasn’t quite right. He was thankful he got to avoid the early onset of the northern Faerghean winter this year, instead skirting the edges of the central mountains surrounding the great monastery. But something about these lands had always felt washed out in autumn.

Another rumour led to nothing. The village in question was much more forthcoming than the last few, but a little too emotional for Sylvian’s sensibilities. The villagers would whisper hotly to one another that the heirs of Fralidarius and Gautier had apparently come to their village, perhaps the army of the Holy Kingdom will soon come to free us from the torment of this civil war. 

“I don’t make promises I cannot keep,” Felix’s voice is sombre. The villagers seem to deflate at the realist response. “But we will not give up our home without a fight.” 

Sylvain shivered a little, touched by the intensity of his words. Anyone who knew Felix from Garreg Mach may have been surprised by his manner here. He had a reputation for being abrupt, and by many assessments, rude. Felix spoke his mind, and when he wanted to be left alone he would verbally lash out as a warning. Sylvain knew though, that training and grooming, however unwanted, ensured Felix was at the bare minimum appropriate in his address of strangers. Never once has Sylvain known Felix to be rude to commoners in official situations. 

It was also a characteristic of Felix that he could be honest to complete strangers. He seemed to find it most difficult to open up to those closest to him. This was the first time Sylvain heard Felix spell out his desire so openly. We will not give up our home without a fight.

A village boy, maybe about six, weeps.

“Hey there, don’t be upset,” Sylvain approaches the boy. Old habits die hard; he feels compelled to sooth crying children. He ruffles the boy’s hair, golden in the midday light. “Things might be grim now, but they don’t always have to be.”

“Use that frustration to get stronger,” Felix murmurs. He pulls out a small knife that was tucked into his belt. He hands it to the boy, who is mesmerised by the gesture. “There will come a time you will have to act. Remember to take care of yourself so that you can help those that are dear.”

The boy continues to gaze at the knife, mesmerised by the glint. “Thank you sir… you’re just like those knights in those stories sir.” Felix growls bashfully. Sylvain can’t help but find the entire exchange utterly endearing.

Felix remembers that He used to like sweet things once upon a time. Berry preserves, like the ones lining the streets of this town. When they were children they would spend long days in the late summer picking the various fruits of the wild, stuffing themselves full, the midnight sun keeping them out for hours on end. 

Sylvain notices Felix looking at the preserves. “Since when did you like jam?” he can’t help but ask.

“Not for me,” Felix scowls. Annette likes jam, he recalls. As does Mercedes.

It had been shortly after the fall of Garreg Mach that Felix had learnt the reason for His inability to taste anything. Another detail in their interactions that pinch at Felix’s nerves every time he thinks about their past. Then another thought pinches his nerve; maybe losing one’s taste affects one’s sense of smell, which also helps when ploughing through multiple sacks of blood and bone.

He always found it a little odd, the apparently contradictory stances that Felix expresses regarding combat. On the one hand Felix relishes in the physical challenge of combat; this is evident by the way he pesters himself and others to partake in training. But on the other, he publicly berated his highness for allegedly enjoying the gruesome aspects of fighting. Sylvain had never really enjoyed combat. It was something unpleasant one got used to doing. It was one of the many duties that came along with the privilege of being a knight of the Holy Kingdom. 

Felix’s face is flush from physical exertion, his blade bloodied. The two had very rarely engaged in life-or-death combat the past moon. But maybe because they strayed a little too far from the main path, or maybe it was just bad luck, they found themselves upon a bandit group. Bad luck for the bandits, since the two of them made quick work of the rogues who didn’t seem to notice the trained and confident gait of Faerghus’s finest. It was mostly Felix’s work, Sylvain thinks, as he barely catches Felix finishing off the two bandits that came towards him. Foolishly presumed the lightly armoured and smaller man would be an easier target. The allies of the slain bandits scurry off and made themselves scarce.

“That was barely even a challenge,” Felix huffs. If it weren’t for the fact that he had just cut down two human beings, Sylvain would have thought the sight beautiful. Exhilaration just contained emanating from Felix. Bright alert eyes, blood rushing to his face, around his body. The languid, well-honed gesture of sweeping the sword clean and sheathing into its scabbard. 

Yes, Felix evidently enjoys combat. And he was good at it too. More and more Sylvain becomes puzzled about Felix giving his highness a rough time for being a beast in battle. He had never had reason to ask, but always wondered whether there was a distinction for Felix between the pleasures of tactical elements of hand-to-hand combat, and the accompanying taking of life. To Sylvain, the supposed line between the two stances was more than fine; hardly there, to be honest. Maybe he was missing something. Maybe this is the reason he can’t quite get Felix to dwell on him rather than the prince. They perhaps share some fundamental essence with each other that, by Sylvain’s own admission, he personally cares little for.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Felix can’t help but roll his eyes. It’s a wonder that Sylvain has been relatively restrained when it came to his habit of striking up conversations with women. Felix orders a meal from the counter, and mentally notes the woman returning a playful smile towards Sylvain. Out of their knightly gear and donning lighter wear, the two look like well-dressed young men. Perhaps on the wealthy side, but there should be little to indicate their heritage and standing.

“We’ve all got to make our way in the world somehow,” the woman replies, passing Sylvain a full-drink. Her gaze lands on Felix. “And what would two fellas like yourselves be doing in a place like this?”  
“Would you believe me if I said we’re on a top secret mission?” Sylvain throws a playful wink at the woman. This elicits a chortle. Felix sighs silently.

“Well it can’t be too important a mission if you’re passing through the likes of here” the brunette humours Sylvain. Something about her light temperament makes Felix remember Dorothea. “We’re so boring that the Empire has mostly left us alone!”

“Aw, surely it can’t be so boring with someone so sunny as yourself running the show,” Sylvain’s smile is warm. The woman’s smile in return is equally practiced. “Especially with all these stories about a killer monster prowling these areas. That’s all people talk about every town we’ve passed around here.”

She gives some generic response, oh, yes, frightful, isn’t it? We’re all feeling a little light-footed I suppose. “To be honest, I think it also just gives us something to talk about,” she pulls another drink and passes it to Felix. “Makes it seem like there’s some cause to these awful things… “  
“Gives you something to take your mind off everything…” Sylvain follows up her sentence and takes a deep drink.  
“Something like that,” the woman responds.

Felix tunes out. He vaguely notes that Sylvain asks her, are you from around here, have you lived here long, so on and so forth. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like with rumours the only source of cheap thrills. For the umpteenth time that day, his thoughts turn to his supposed liege instead. As the millennium festival draws closer, other concerns and thoughts start to get crowded out. What if they can’t find Him before then? What if He doesn’t turn up? What if He does?

He’s not sure what he would do if, or when, they come face-to-face. Despite all this time spent travelling, Felix is not sure he knows what he hopes to achieve. He is not sure what he is expecting. Felix had thought he had discarded those feelings of disappointment and hurt from his youth, that he was now ready and able to face the boar, and accept the consequences of what He is. But Felix still has no idea what that would look like. 

Once upon a time he had thought it easier to cut out people rather than to risk having them disappoint him. And how strategically sound that had turned out to be! During his time at the academy Felix had tried so hard to not think about Him, and now that he’s physically absent all he can do is to yearn by endlessly churning question after question. Would He look different? Perhaps He is injured? If He is truly behind all these killings, is he really the lost cause Felix had publicly declared? The answer to the question of what drives Felix to search for Him was surely-

Suddenly a hand on his arm startles Felix back to his surrounds. The woman at the bar had placed her hand on his arm. She gives him an inviting gaze, an obvious look signalling her openness to him. “I’ll be done for the evening after this, I’m always happy to show a bit of local hospitality,” she smiles coyly. She leans in slightly, her neckline inviting the gaze to fall on her ample beasts. Felix notices Sylvain is watching on with amusement. 

Felix’s lips thin, he sighs, and excuses himself from her touch by standing up from the counter. “Good night to you both,” he murmurs to the two “I’ll be taking my leave.” and that is that.

“Oh so he’s a man of honour, is he?” the woman chirps, casting Sylvain a playful look. Sylvain focusses his attention on her, while observing Felix’s retreating back from the corner of his eyes. “Lucky person who gets his heart!”

“Lucky indeed,” Sylvain laughs softly, and tugs at her arms to draw her in.  
The woman chortles, allowing herself to fall into his embrace, whispering that she’ll be done soon. Sylvain wonders as he wraps his arms around the woman’s waist, what would have happened if Felix had taken up her invitation. In all the time he has known Felix he has never seen him show an interest in the amorous. That’s not true, Sylvain amends in his mind; to be more precise, he has never seen Felix express an upfront interest in the romantic, or sensual. But what a sight it would have been, a sensuous lover he may be. Felix embracing the woman tightly, and dropping feathery kisses along her neck. How his eyes would be heavily lidded, as he allowed himself to indulge in the heat of another. Hands coyly gripping his partner. Long legs lazily wrapping around them, tugging them closer. Soft murmurs. A heated sigh.

Sylvain admits himself a scoundrel, but he never feels quite as dastardly as when he fantasises about Felix when in the embrace of someone else.


	3. Red Wolf Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (very) mild gore chapter.

The trees of the forest are the hue of the namesake of the month. As is the colour of the ground, littered with fallen leaves, splintered wood caked with dried blood. The rumours had not quite prepared the two for the sight that lay before them. The notion that one man was responsible for this wretched pile made things even more devastating.

Sylvain looks around blankly at the rag-doll corpses. Felix is motionless, a deep scowl etched onto his face as his gaze burns into the back of the concave head of what was once a man from the Empire.

The villagers settled at the edge of this area confessed to a sighting. A large creature, possibly a human. Someone had found this site of slaughter recently, but all chose to ignore it, seeing as it was deep in the forest. Out of sight, out of mind. Don’t need any Imperial soldiers poking around, looking for trouble. Sylvain hadn’t expected to find anything, since most of their investigations had resulted in the two knights listening to vague recollections of horrible events uttered by total strangers. This was the first time their trail was hot.

Sylvain steals a look at Felix. He hasn’t moved since fixating on the head. 

“…I thought you thought his highness was a beast,” Sylvain ventures. “Looks like you were right. But beast or not, this is just… grim.”

“I did think him a beast, and I still do. This re-affirms it. Though it brings me no joy to see confirmation,” Felix finally moves, shifting his weight onto one leg. But he continues to stare, somewhat unfocussed, on the mangled man. “Eight soldiers, possibly nine. From the state of decay this couldn’t’ve been longer than a week ago.”

“… We don’t actually know that this is his doing, you know,” Sylvain murmurs.

Felix scoffs sadly. “Spare me, Sylvain. If we didn’t think he was behind this, we wouldn’t be this deep in occupied territory. I think it’s clear the boar is behind these, and he’s not too far from here.”

“Ok then, so what are we going to do now?” 

No response but the rustling of leaves. Sylvain wonders what it is about that soldier Felix is so fixated on, but he realises then that Felix is not paying attention to his surrounds. An unusual state of affairs, but something that is occurring with increased frequency as of late. So deep in thought is he that Felix doesn’t seem to realise that he has bit his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

“…if his highness is so far gone that he is capable of this… we need to think of some concrete options of what to do when we find him,” Sylvain starts thinking out loud in an attempt to coax Felix out of his own head. “Are we going to go and confront him, just the two of us? Will he even recognise us? Would it be an option to…”

“Maybe he’s beyond our reach…”

Sylvain stops mid-sentence, and looks at Felix. 

“I knew this entire search was… a gamble. I, knew, there was a high chance it would be futile, and even if we found him, that he might be past the point of salvation -“

“But you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe that there was some hope,” Sylvain begins.

“Was there ever any hope,” Felix bites out bitterly. “A monster who can do this doesn’t come from no where. I said he was beast, but was he always so? Before Duscar, even? Did you ever notice the darker parts of him?” Felix murmurs. “You’ve always been good at seeing through performances.”

“Look, we know he’s good at combat, and enjoys it. And so what?” Sylvain tries for something lighter. Wrong strategy.

“You think this,” Felix gesticulates wildly at the discoloured corpses, “is dismissible as “a man who likes fighting”? This is the work of someone who tortures, Sylvain. Not just one, or even two people. Eight. Possibly nine.”

“We don’t know what he’s been through,” Sylvain raises his hands defensively.

“And you think that justifies this,” Felix seethes hotly.

“For a guy who supposedly hates chivalry, you’re sounding pretty hot about proper conduct-” 

“Is this your way of trying to cope? Are you trying to diminish his actions so it doesn’t look like we’ve been wasting our time on a lost cause?” 

Sylvain grimaces as the words strike true. 

“You’re right. I’m not-“ Sylvain sighs. He’s always wondered why he is incapable of getting passionate. Unlike Felix, who wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to certain matters. “I don’t want to think that his highness is a sick savage. He’s my childhood friend too, you know.”

This time it is Felix who grimaces at Sylvain’s words. 

That night Felix dreams. 

Some forest, a bit like the one near Garage Mach, maybe. An impossibly large boar was oozing with sores. It hunched over a body, a small boy (was it Ashe?). It was eating his face, tusks scraping out the innards, human skin hanging loose like laundry-

Felix wakes, indescribably shook. The symbolism is so transparent he momentarily scoffs at his own subconscious’s lack of imagination. 

The room they are lodging in is dark. The scurrying of leaves outside can be heard, draughts here and there through gaps in the wall. Felix lies still. A large boar oozing with sores stares back in his mind’s eye.

“…are you awake?” Sylvain’s words send a small jolt through him, and his heart gives a singularly loud thud. Felix says nothing, but slowly turns around to face the direction of the voice. He thinks he can vaguely make out Sylvain’s silhouette across the gap, over on the other bed. Looking at him, eyes wide open as though he has been awake all this time.

Felix still says nothing, but holds Sylvain’s gaze. Under the cover of darkness he finds it easier to do so, unlike in broad day light where the whole world can see. He hears a shift of sheets, and it looks as though Sylvain has extended his arm out. An invitation to hold his hand? Felix isn’t sure. He continues to lay still.

Eventually Sylvain closes his eyes. Or maybe it was Felix who fell asleep first. Either way the hollow eyes of the boar with the sores did not bother him again that night.

Under a grey morning sky, Felix declares to Sylvain: “We should head to Garreg Mach.”

Sylvain looks at Felix over his mug of hot water. The two sit outside, watching their horses feed on the hospitality of the village. Their own meal was a simple hard bread and cheese affair. Felix had washed down the food mechanically, seemingly impatient to announce his thoughts to Sylvain.

“The others will come. With more numbers, we will be better placed to deal with the boar should we also find him there.”

Despite knowing Felix for years, Sylvain still finds himself occasionally surprised by Felix’s thoughts and actions. Sylvain himself had been mulling over the likelihood of his former classmates honouring the promise of a Millennium reunion, and whether that would be their best shot at trying to find and deal with their liege. He had not expected Felix to so blatantly express his conviction that their classmates would indeed honour the promise. Usually he would take a barbed pot-shot at sentimentalism gone mad, or a veiled swipe at those who foolishly cling to promises made in their youth. Or perhaps the prolonged search and travel had worn down his need to keep up a front. 

“I guess that makes sense, since it’s two weeks until the Ethereal moon,” Sylvain nods, blowing on the hot water. “If we start heading there now we’ll get there in time, even giving leeway for a couple of hold ups.” Still early for snow, but the weather can be fickle at this time of the year.

Felix doesn’t respond. Distracted again. Sylvain sighs mentally. Over the course of their travels Felix had increasingly fallen into the habit of withdrawing into his head. Becomes consumed by his thoughts, whatever they were. Undoubtedly something to do with his highness.

“Hey, mock-spar with me,” Sylvain calls out to Felix. This gets a response.

“What’s gotten into you? You never suggest training,” Felix asks with suspicion. 

“You’re bothered by stuff. There’s not much we can do about the near future, so I’m gonna help you by taking your mind off it,” Sylvain gets up, and approaches his covered weapon leaning agains the tree. His father would have a fit if he could see how the family treasure was innocuously sitting out in the open, only concealed with a nondescript cloth of good quality.

“Mock sparring with a hero’s relic? Is that a smart idea?” Felix drawls, as he takes his position.

“What, you chicken?”

“Only worried I’ll shatter your family’s claim to fame, I loathe the idea of having to explain myself to the Margrave.”

“Oh is this how it’s gonna be?”

They gently take steps, swinging and blocking. As much as they made light about training with hero’s relics, the most they could do without proper training weapons was to work on stance, measuring reach, more like a dance than proper combat training. The intended effect was achieved though, through periodic banter interspersed with the physical to-ing and fro-ing, both knights could temporarily forget the demands they would face in the coming days.

“We should head to Garreg Mach,” Sylvain huffs at the end of their bout.

Felix looks over at Sylvain, face slightly pink. The rapidly cooling air always manages to tint cheeks from the most basic form of exertion. Sylvain likes to think there’s more to it than the cold. He knows a thing or two about looking on the bright side of things; an essential survival skill.

The good mood doesn’t last. As their approach to Garreg Mach becomes closer, a deep restlessness creeps upon Sylvain. Not just himself, apparently. Felix also became more abrasive. The stretches of silence between them are longer, and when words are exchanged, they are impatient and sharp. When Sylvain could coax a conversation out of Felix, the topic was always about his highness.

It gets harder and harder for Sylvain to not be bothered by this.

“Do you ever wonder why we’re still here?” Sylvain ventures one evening. The two make camp in a forested area, only a day or so out from Garreg Mach. Sylvain pokes the fire absentmindedly while Felix lean against a large boulder that forms a partial shelter against the elements. The days are shorter, the climate much colder even in this central part of Fodolan. No snow yet, but the presence of winter grew greater with every passing evening.

“You’re the one who offered to follow,” Felix says without much heat. 

“I’m thinking more big picture, actually,” Sylvain steps back, satisfied with the state of the flame. “About this whole war.”

Felix looks at Sylvain.

“Playing devils’ advocate… “ Sylvain ignore’s Felix’s snort, and Anders out loud. “Edelgard makes a good pitch. A world free of the constraints of crests, where there is no nobility, only meritocracy.” A controversial, if not down right treasonous stance. “We all have good reasons to want that world.”

They sit in silence as the the fire crackles. Sylvain has known Felix for long enough that this is a contemplative silence, one where Felix is mulling over the proposition, skimming his lexicon for appropriate words.

“She believes this hypothetical world is only attainable through crushing the church,” Felix begins. “At the point that we are allied with the church, her vision of the future is unacceptable, I suppose.”

“So really we’re being dragged into this because of history,” Sylvain states. “Because of our historical roots with the church, and natural alliance.” Bullshit conservatism. “I thought you didn’t like this kind of uncritical obligation.” 

“I don’t”, Felix huffs.

“But then why are you here?”

“Why are you? You’ve never hidden you dislike of the crest system.”

“I’m asking you.”

“…It was the Professor who convinced me to stay,” Felix murmurs. Sylvain’s brows lift at the unexpected confession. “The professor… not so much in their words but…” Felix sighs in frustration. He starts again. “They made me realise what it was I was pursuing in my quest for strength. It was the frustration of chasing ghosts that drove me first. Trying to surpass Glenn was… trying to keep his memory alive, in my own way. I kept saying to the boar, that caring for the dead is futile, but really perhaps I was trying to remind myself of the truth of these words… The professor’s strength drew me in. Their presence re-enforced to me, that the past is the past, and that there is something to strive towards in the present…” And they too are dead, as far as he is aware. Another person dead before he could surpass them.

Between the lines Sylvain could see the unwritten words. “So you think you can save his highness by convincing him to let go of the past.”

Felix barks out a laugh. Derisive. “No one is capable of convincing him of anything,” he scoffs. 

“You keep saying these things, but you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe so on some level,” Sylvain doesn’t let up. 

Felix shrugs. Something about the gesture gets under Sylvain’s skin. He should be used to Felix’s evasiveness. But for some reason today he couldn’t let it go.

“You’re so… why can’t you be honest about your feelings?” Sylvain sighs in exasperation, with a bit more heat than usual. Felix notices, and turns a scowl in his direction. Undeterred, Sylvain continues. “You’re clearly self aware enough to notice the pattern of your thoughts, why can’t you just admit that you’re still holding on to the hope that his highness can be saved? There’s no shame in that.” 

Felix flushes a little at the accusation, but pulls his mouth in a thin line in defiance. 

(Maybe he hasn’t realised) Sylvain thinks.

“I thought you were asking about the Big Picture. This isn’t about him,” Felix brusquely turns his gaze away from Sylvain. 

(Except that it is. Everything is about him) Sylvain’s mind supplies.

A heat begins stewing in Sylvain’s chest. He starts speaking before he can get a pulse of what’s driving him, he feels that well-practiced, lukewarm smile tug at his lips. A horrid habit he’s formed over time when an ugly emotion is about to take form with words.

He crowds into Felix’s space, leaning into his side, cocks his head with a deceptive ease. “Hey, would you have come and searched for me if I had gone walkabout?”

Felix’s eyes harden, incredulous. “What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I would have.”

“I thought you’d forgotten our childhood promise,” Sylvain hums deeply, “After all his highness does have a special place in your heart, not like Ingrid and me,” a self deprecating laugh.

Felix makes a dark expression. The firelight plays on his eyes, intensifying his demeanour. “You’re being impossible. How am I supposed to compare the three of you? Drop this.”

Sylvain contemplated doing so. A cold thought flitters across his mind at this realisation; the less Felix thinks about Him, the better.

It felt like his tongue would crawl out from his throat for the short while the thought lived. Once it passed, shame rang between his ears.

“You know, you used to be so adorable when you were younger,” Sylvain smiles, trying to coax Felix’s memory to their past. He’s pushing it, he knows; trying to force Felix’s attention on him, rather than the topic at hand. He leans further into Felix. Felix pulls back slightly, as far as he could given the boulder he was leaning against. “I sometimes wish you were more open with your affections like back then,” he whispers to Felix, absent-mindedly playing with a loose strand of hair around his ear. “If you ask nicely, I’ll take your mind off all of this. Wipe away your tears, wrap my arms around you and tell you that everything will be ok.” 

He deliberately drop his voice, gently tilting Felix’s chin. “I’ll even give you a little kiss like I used to, you know?” 

Felix shoves Sylvain roughly, but without strength. “What is wrong with you,” he growls. “Have you lost your mind? You’ve gotten so desperate that you’ll try seducing anyone, is that it?” The last statement was a low blow, but one cast in desperation, Sylvain thinks. 

He could still turn back, make this about the impending sense of dread that grows as they approach their ruined former school, he could still make a joke about it, he could retreat and save this precarious state.

Too bad he’s always had a penchant for self-destruction. 

“I know exactly who I’m trying to seduce here, Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” Sylvain smiles, the grip on Felix’s chin tightening a fraction. 

Felix’s eyes widen, and his body freezes up. A borderline call. It could be genuine. “Stop it,” he whispers. “We’re… both frayed from the prolonged travel.” One last chance.

“Well stop me then,” Sylvain murmurs, as he leans in towards Felix’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

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